The Crippled Birds
by The Wylde One
Summary: Couched on the smooth material were a couple of rose gold lockets, ones that Aleta had not seen for months. The inscriptions were just as she remembered them: R&A, for her and for him, with a single ruby lodged in the center. She felt unwell just by looking at them. The lockets were disturbing as ever. She did not need a residue of that former life. Minimum Romance.
1. From the Darkness

Hell is empty and all the Devils are here

-William Shakespeare-

* * *

Chapter One

"…From the Darkness…"

* * *

She was not expecting anyone to visit her that night. It was half past eight o'clock on a Saturday. When circumstances permitted it, Aleta would spend the remains of the nocturnal hours at her easel. She had donned an old shirt and gray sweatpants, brushed her long hair into a shambolic chignon, and took dinner—which consisted of baked honey mustard chicken and a tall glass of Pinot Noir—to her personal workspace.

Outside, there was only the pleasure of silence. It seemed as if no one wanted to disrupt the peace. The Rue Cottage was situated in the fringes of a straggly little town, and was twice as far from the bustling capital known as Krimson City. There were no other communities beyond her garden, which made it appear as though she was living on the edge of the universe. People rarely passed through her road, but it was quite rampant during the holidays.

Thanking God for the comforts of a wonderful treat, Aleta browsed through her laptop and picked a playlist to match the current mood. She then sat on a chaise longue, with her bare feet outstretched, to consume her plentiful meal. Half an hour later, feeling sprightly like a little lamb in a meadow, she walked to the back of the studio; where she threw open the doors that led to her painting room.

Happy to do what she enjoyed best, Aleta put on her smock, selected a hog's hair brush and three medium-sized sable brushes from a coffee mug, and picked up her palette, upon which paint had already been administered. She turned to her canvas and merrily sighed. Aleta was about to embark on the final steps of painting—it was when highlights and deepened shadows bring the work to life. The idea was pleasant, and she painted with the passion of an accomplished artist, filling the void with broad sweeps and well-designed strokes.

Aleta was still working at around ten in the evening when, above the classical melody of Debussy, she heard someone tapping at her front door. In turn, she nearly dropped her paintbrush in surprise. She was expecting no one. The tapping went on, and it was loud enough to disturb her red canaries. With no sign of any possible threat, Aleta put her palette on an adjacent table and washed her hands clean before answering to this unanticipated company. The visitor was standing upon her doormat—a woman of medium build, dressed quite modishly from head to toe in black. Her features entailed a sprinkle of dark freckles, poorly bleached tresses, and a thin upper lip.

Being finicky in her own fashion, Aleta approved of fine clothing and elegance, and it made her feel more kindly prepared towards the guest.

"Hello, you must be Miss Aleta Volante. I'm Jennifer; I'm a correspondent. I'm sure that you've heard of the Scarlet Banner, of course."

Aleta timidly nodded.

"That's great," the woman smiled. "I'm currently researching for modern developments in fine arts, and I was wondering if I could get a bit of your insight for the paper?"

Aleta was equally annoyed and interested by this announcement. If she wished to interview her, could she not join the rest of the antagonistic mob at the Metropolitan Art Museum? Then again, she couldn't help wondering how this journalist found her way here, and why she had come at this ungodly time of night. In any occurrence, she shouldn't leave an intruder to wander the cottage. Aleta would have to attend to her, unfortunately.

"I certainly don't like to receive unwanted guests at this late hour. However, since you are now here, you might as well come in and tell me what you want." Aleta gestured towards her painting room.

Jennifer marched into the entrance hall, glancing over the walls as if she were looking for something she hoped would be there. Eventually, she noticed the armoire aviary that housed several canaries. For a moment, the correspondent smiled at the twittering birds and tried to impersonate their chirps. Then, she stood before the easel, and examined the artwork upon it. And while the oil painting was one of which that made Aleta very proud, the older woman gazed at it with indistinct frustration.

Provoked by the display of cageyness and what she considered a self-righteous air, Aleta's temper—usually mild—was wearing thin. She was accustomed to good wishes upon the quality of her work. If other qualified artists could detect the delicacy in her degrees of tone, the expertise of her details, why did this person not show admiration? She addressed the correspondent with utmost strictness, but the speed with which she spoke betrayed her underlying displeasure.

"I do not want to repeat myself, Miss Jennifer. Tell me why you have to bother me."

Jennifer seemed to flinch a little at her bluntness. "I've heard that you're a dark romanticist painter," she said, and pulled out a notebook and pen from her coat pocket. "You've made a number of fascinating portraits for someone so young." That was true; Aleta had completed at least a dozen of them by now. "I was curious to see your work—maybe with a view to a commission—and to discover a little about the profession. I should like to see more of them. Tell me, what talent is needed to be a successful painter of gothic subjects? Do you observe the grim side of things more clearly than others? Are you more sensitive to the setting or better at perceiving what is traumatic and what is tragic?"

Aleta was adept when it came to knowing dishonesty. She often said that her skill as a painter was put much into effort when reading faces and body language. The lameness of her excuse was thus immediately apparent, and because the hour was late, she saw no reason to play along with her. "I'm sorry," she said, "This is hardly the time and place for a showing. As for your second question, my observation is not actually clear, as you presumed. It is simply through involvement that made my paintings successful. And now, since you refuse to reveal your true purpose, I must ask you to leave my home."

"Wait," Jennifer loomed directly, settling her penetrating gaze on the younger woman. Her eyes, caught in the warm light of a nearby desk lamp, were bright green, hard as an emerald yet flooded with an intensity that forced the painter to look away. "When you stated involvement as your secret to success, what do you mean by that exactly?"

Aleta composed herself and responded more civilly. "I meant that, in order to achieve the riveting atmosphere of my works, I had to stand on the line between beauty and horror. There are certain themes that are generally disgusting in real life, but they could also bring amusement in fine arts. The same could be said vice versa."

Jennifer recoiled, as though her explanation offended her. "If that is so, then did you find delight in the massacre at Beacon Mental Hospital?" Her voice had dropped to a mere whisper—so soft, that when she said it, Aleta prayed she had misheard. But there was no mistake, for she repeated it again, and more defiantly. "That's right: the massacre at Beacon Mental Hospital."

She had expected this; nonetheless, her confirmation set her heart racing at an incredible speed. Aleta felt her head pound with such intensity she feared that it might explode at any given moment. She looked at the correspondent more thoroughly. She must have recognized her at some point.

Before long, the painter subdued her senses to focus her attention on the landscape portrait behind Jennifer—it was an unending field of sunflowers forever cloaked in the shroud of dusk and twilight. Her music suddenly changed qualities, and there it was: a gramophone with its dusty gold horn emitting the proper tune of Clair de Lune. Within seconds, she felt his familiar presence in the back of her mind, prodding at her resolve, and begging to be released.

Aleta blinked once, twice, and her studio had returned. The canaries were noisily singing to her, and Jennifer was now standing just beside the sunflower portrait itself. A sharp pain gripped her temple. The truth was that something in that hallucination brought to mind another shadow, one she had seen a mere seven months ago, one that nearly ruined her life. It was that memory more than the journalist herself that had set fear coursing through her veins like a draft of whiskey.

"I thought everyone knew not to bring that question into the light. Is that why you have come?" Silence developed between them, a rigid hush that seemed more disconcerting than anything else. She wanted her to break it; she craved for something that would explain her intention no matter how dreadful it was. But the only racket was the song of the frightened birds.

The stillness went on. A part of her wanted to scream. And yet some invisible energy held her back. She knew that unless she waited, she might never discover what had brought her.

"The reason why I am here is to show you something." Jennifer delved into the pocket of her coat.

For some reason, Aleta became alert. A voice in the back of her head whispered warnings of assault. In response, she edged towards her desk and positioned herself close to the long amputation knife she had kept hidden in the top drawer. But her doubt was unsupported, for the article she took out was nothing more terrifying than a folded white handkerchief.

Jennifer opened it deliberately. Couched on the smooth material were a couple of rose gold lockets, ones that Aleta had not seen for months. The inscriptions were just as she remembered them: R&A, for her and for him, with a single ruby lodged in the center. She felt unwell just by looking at them. The lockets were disturbing as ever. She did not need a residue of that former life.

"I found these lying around the Solitary Confinement Ward." Jennifer explained, holding the items closer to the young woman.

"And you simply presumed that they once belonged to me?" Aleta questioned her.

"Yes," Jennifer replied instantly, "because all of the records do not mention a patient wearing a rose gold locket until I came upon your accounts written by the late Doctor Jimenez."

Aleta quickly became curious. "How did you manage to recover the archives? I thought that KCPD had burned them all."

"I have my ways," Jennifer said, haughtily. "They can cover up the truth with whatever crazy idea they can come up with, but I wasn't convinced. I had to find out."

"What do you want in exchange from all of this?" Aleta had to ask.

"I wish to hear your version of the events surrounding the mysterious massacre. What happened then has made a profound influence upon my life. Moreover, I want to know what became of the detectives involved. Nobody has heard from them after the KCPD closed down the building, except for one, of course."

By now, Aleta could feel her fear waning, to be eclipsed by interest. "Will it give you any sort of contentment if I tell you what I know?"

"Yes," Jennifer answered. "The public deserves to know what really went on in that horrible place."

"I have to warn you though: the last reporter who had the same intent was killed for being curious, and his body was never seen again. Hitherto, of all the agonizing endeavors that I have experienced, that affair was the only one that troubled me the most to remember. I simply wish for it to fade."

"Then you're accepting my request?"

Aleta pondered for a while. "Yes and no. I can't tell you everything right now, because it is too long and complex, and I am becoming drowsy. I will write it down instead, for your sake. Meet me at my art gallery one month from now, and I will hand it to you." She paused for a moment before adding, "Also, you may keep the lockets. I have no desire of keeping them in this very house, with what I know of their origins."

"Don't you have any sort of payment required from this sinister assignment that I'm asking of you?" Jennifer said with a faint scowl.

"Yes, truthfully, I want to know who you really are and how you actually came by the lockets, and why you require this information."

The correspondent remained quiet and dropped her head, as if conceding to her will. "Very well," she said, in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it. "If those are your terms, then I can do little but agree with them."

Aleta nodded, maintaining a solemn face. "I'll be expecting you in thirty days from this evening. Until then, Miss Jennifer, good night."

With this, Jennifer exited the cottage. Aleta watched her enter a dark red car, which sped away into the gloom of the woods. She quickly bolted the door and shut the curtains. The appetite for work had vanished; she held very little concentration for it now. She spoke to her birds tenderly, bidding them to rest well, and made her way to her bedroom, where she sat on her bed and contemplated the decisions she had made. Her mind was awhirl with nostalgia.

And thus, she reached for the red telephone on her bedside table and dialed a particular number. Aleta held the handset to her ear. She waited for the dialing tone to end. After what seemed like a very long time, the person she called finally answered. The young woman had never felt so relieved at hearing his gruff voice once again—it almost brought tears to her eyes.

"…Sebastian? I'm sorry for calling you this late, but I really need your help. I need you, Sebastian."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **[Major Edit because I just felt the need to do it]**

 **The romance is slow, and I will tend to lean more on the mystery and horror side of The Evil Within. This is just a prologue, but I have to thank RedVoid for her review. I hope that this fanfic will entertain you further!**

 **Aleta will join the storyline in the next chapter, don't worry!**

 **Please leave a review and favorite it~!**

 **The Evil Within belongs to Shinji Mikami and Tango Gameworks. I only own my original characters and this (gestures to the entire chapter)**


	2. Then it all started to Fall

A conscious slumber seems to take,  
And would not, for the world, awake.

-The Sleeper, Edgar Allan Poe-

* * *

Chapter Two

"…Then it all started to Fall…"

* * *

It was late October, in the year 2014.

Aleta constrained herself further into the corner of the small room, with her knees against her chest and her long hair in a tousled mess. Charcoal sketches, which were scattered about on the floor, confined her to that spot like a white fence. Currently, she was outlining a still portrait of sunflowers, two porcelain dolls dressed as little boys, and a figurine of the Virgin Mary posed in prayer.

Earlier that morning, she ate a miserable breakfast of toast and milk that did not satiate her hunger, and was garbed rather hastily in a plain shirtdress and a pair of white oxford shoes. The air was cold, for it did not have a good heating system like the other parts of the hospital. Her room was silent, because it was quarantined from the main buildings and recreational areas. One specific nurse would visit her on the weekends to give her medication and check her blood pressure. Everything else, including her therapy sessions, were prepared by her doctor, Marcelo Jimenez.

At their first encounter, Aleta truly believed that he would be able to help her escape her nightmares. She regarded him as a passionate worker, who considered his patients with utmost meticulousness. While there was no definite cure to her mental illness, Doctor Jimenez had promised that there will be a method for her to control the deliria. It was doubtful at first, but Aleta held onto it decisively.

A familiar racket pulled the young woman from her artistic reverie: it was beginning to rain outside. How Aleta wished she could leave the suffocating room and feel the cold drops assaulting her skin. Yet, she was able to find another means of comfort, and she knew that it had to be kept close to her. She reached up and ran a slender finger down the long silver chain around her neck until she found the familiar ornament at its center. She gently lifted the object so that the dwindling light rebounded off of its smooth rose gold surface. It reassured her; it gave her a small amount of strength each time she felt the worse has yet to come.

Her eyes tended to wander over to the door while she applied the shades and smudged the charcoal. Glancing at her calendar, she assumed that the nurse was supposed to arrive with her prescriptions. She set her drawings aside and got up to look through the window. Nothing else was there outside.

"How strange," she said to herself. "She should have returned by now. Maybe they forgot to look at the schedule again."

Before Aleta could return to her work, however, a faint hum resonated in her ears. It was tolerable, at first, but then it began to raise volume and intensities within a few seconds, and she found herself pressing her hands against her forehead, as though a sharp knife was stabbing every part of her brain. Aleta fell forward on her knees, screaming in pain, and the locket slipped out of her shirt to swing back and forth beneath her. She quickly seized it, hoping that it would, in some way, ease her agony.

All of a sudden, something violently collided with the steel door. Aleta jumped away in surprise. "Hey! Open the door! You've got to help me! Please help—Oh God, no!" Then, without warning, blood was splashed across the window.

The young woman watched in pure horror. And the heavy door suddenly opened on its own accord. Aleta waited for the murderer to enter, but nothing came through. Her primary reaction was dread, but the feeling passed rather swiftly. She got up and made cautious strides towards the lone exit. With a light shove, she fully opened the door and stepped out into the empty corridor.

There were slicks of blood everywhere, showing that the person was already hurt when he arrived. But where was the body? A corpse should be lying around here somewhere, and she knew that there were no other routes in this particular building. The light above her head blinked in rapid succession, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood. She saw a shadow move beneath the gap of the doors. Aleta needed to find Doctor Jimenez, or someone else to help her, as soon as possible.

"I'm so scared," she whispered. "But I can't just wait here."

Aleta added a bit of speed in her steps, but what she saw around the corner had her stopping instantly, and she reeled back in shock—bodies of nurses, doctors, and patients alike were scattered about like abandoned rag dolls, each covered in their own blood. Her trembling hands flew to her gaping mouth, hushing whatever shriek she had yet to release. Their deaths were still fresh, and some still expelled bodily fluids. The murderer must be here. She was now driven with despair. Regardless, she had to find a way to escape, and seek help.

Aleta became wary in her step. She evaded the puddles so that she would not leave any footprints and give herself away to the one responsible for all of this. The revolting odor of blood, fecal matter, and urine saturated the air of the mental hospital. Upon reaching another corridor, she saw a blockade of gurneys and benches had already been made. Anxiety filled her—she was imprisoned.

There should be some other route for her to take—Aleta was hopeful that the upper floors hadn't been blocked off yet, or worse: the killer could be lurking there already. She turned back from whence she came and took the passages for the East Hall. She sniffed the air—it had the same choking scent to it that was definitely unnerving and repulsive. She was shaken yet again to discover more bodies littering the way. The young woman loosely identified some of them from her sittings, but she could not put a name to the lifeless face. At that point, a movement caught her attention. Aleta crouched down in defense, and slowly approached the station to hide behind it.

However, upon reaching her target, something snatched the back of her dress and effortlessly lifted her off the floor. She let out a loud cry in surprise and struggled to scratch the hand of her attacker. She anticipated him to drive a knife into her gut, or to slit her throat so that it would soon be over. Aleta continued to fight his hold, and then glanced up at the stranger in panic—his pale gray eyes, almost milky white, were fixed on her terrified face. She let out a cry when his right hand shot out. However, to her disbelief, he had caught her locket, and was gawking at it with a crestfallen gaze. He stroked the carvings with his thumb before it fell out of his grasp. Aleta stared back in surprise. Her cheeks burned, and her palms grew sweaty.

When she felt his grasp loosening, she used the moment to shove him away from her and step back. She had to run and hide, but then there was a mysterious energy that was holding her into place, fastening her feet to the floor so she was unable to escape. "Please, don't hurt me." Aleta said.

To her dismay, the hooded man strode forward. "Aleta…" he groused, moving closer and closer. Her eyes widened. How did he know her name?

"W-Who are you? How do you know me?" she said, driven by her growing unease.

Then the man abruptly stopped; his look remained unreadable. "I see," he said in a throaty voice. "So Jimenez managed to weaken an engram and suppressed it further with beta blockers. However, he doesn't know that I can fix that matter with no trouble."

Aleta feared for her life now. "How do you know Doctor Jimenez? Wha-what did you do to him?" In an instant, the hooded man vanished, and quickly reappeared in front of the young woman.

She forced herself to encounter his eye. In his glower, she now saw a virtually perceptible hunger, but for what, she did not know. He was so close now. "I am not a fabrication of your mind, Aleta. This is not a hoax triggered by your delirium." He was quick to grab her hand and place it against his disfigured chest. Aleta let out an alarmed gasp at the roughness of the skin beneath her fingers.

The man then told her, "I'm here; I'm real. And I'm not going to let them take you away from me. Not this time. You were meant to be mine."

Aleta felt it stir from the bottom of her feet. It slithered upward rapidly, burning her very flesh until the tendrils sharpened themselves before plunging into her head to penetrate and probe her mind. She could feel her mouth parting, but the screams remain wedged in her throat, unable to escape. Everything became dark in an instant. Bits of pictures, unknown and known, flashed in front of her eyes in rapid succession—she became sick in the stomach, and she had no choice but to fall forward to pacify the vertigo.

Someone—a woman perhaps—was yelling into her ear, as if it was her task to destroy her hearing. Blurred images of a red chair and a stained glass window came into view. Then, a remarkable thing happened afterwards—a heavy weight fell on top of Aleta, stunning her out of the hysterical stupor. A pair of large hands held her by the shoulders, gently helping her to stand back up and rest against their side.

"Leslie, please give Aleta some time to pull through."

"Time…time…time…"

"Doctor, we have to leave right now." An unrecognized female voice broke through.

In time, Aleta salvaged her strength and looked around to see that she was in the Reception Area. The one who had been calming her was none other than Doctor Jimenez. Leslie, a fellow patient, was clinging to the hem of her skirt, nearly raising it a bit with the childish intention to hide from the monsters lurking in the dark.

"Leslie," Aleta said, her tone strict yet tender. "Let go of my dress and come here." The young man quickly complied and waddled over to snuggle against her.

"Are you sure you're fit to walk, Miss Volante?" Doctor Jimenez asked worriedly.

"Yes, I'm quite fine—" Before she finished her reply, the ground itself began to tremble aggressively, and bits of debris and dust fell on top of their heads.

"We have to go now!" A woman exclaimed, shoving the trio out of the mental hospital. "Connelly! Bring the car over here right away!"

A policeman ran past them, but he rapidly stopped to see that their getaway vehicle had been swallowed by the earth. He uttered a curse, glancing around frantically for other means of escape. Then he saw a vacant ambulance.

"Come on! I'll just hotwire the thing!" he shouted.

The woman behind them, Aleta assumed she was an officer too, steered them to the said vehicle. She and Doctor Jimenez hurriedly unbolted the rear doors, shepherding the two patients inside. Leslie was whimpering now, though his eyes were steadily fixed elsewhere. Another strong tremor had succeeded in jarring the ambulance.

"It's going to be okay, Leslie. Come here." Aleta said.

"Here…here…here…" Leslie repeated, but he managed to move closer to the girl. "He's…here."

"I got it!" the officer, Connelly, said over his shoulder. He paused for a second, and quickly put the ambulance in reverse, carelessly jostling the passengers as the bumper collided into a police car, "Detective! Get in! Get in!"

The trembling of the ground increased and Aleta heard the significant sound of crunching gravel. Everything was tearing itself apart it seemed. Connelly maneuvered the vehicle with little difficulty, and stepped on the gas. Aleta tightly held onto Leslie as the ambulance shuddered from an impact—the officer had crashed through the gates without second thought. It had to be done; there were going to die if they hesitated.

"Hey, where's Joseph?" a new voice came joined them.

"Man, I'm sorry, but he never came out," Connelly told him. "I'd waited but…"

Leslie whimpered loudly this time. Doctor Jimenez held the boy down. "Please, settle down Leslie!"

"…settle down, Leslie…" the boy echoed a few times before something hit the roof of the vehicle. Aleta let out a cry alongside him.

When the forceful swerving slowly ceased and the influence of danger had passed over their heads, everyone had started to settle in their seats. Leslie did not relinquish his embrace for anything else. Aleta patted his head in assurance and quietly listened to the low purring sounds he was producing.

In the driver and passenger seats, the other detective asked, "Is everyone alright back there?"

"Just a few bumps," the policewoman replied. "We're fine."

Then, against Aleta's shoulder, Leslie began to chant. "…fine…fine…fine…fine…"

"We will be, once we're far away." Doctor Jimenez added with slight frustration in his tone.

Aleta looked at them worriedly. "Where will we go now, doctor?"

Her doctor released a sigh at that statement. Before he could calmly respond to his other patient, Leslie suddenly cried out, "Fall!" and the ambulance suddenly swerved off its course. Aleta fell off her seat, taking Leslie along with her.

"What is happening now?!" Jimenez yelled as he tried to gather up his charges. The din of metal scraping against concrete rang out.

The next thing they knew, the tunnel had ended, and now they were truly falling into their deaths. Aleta felt the ambulance crash against the side of the cliff, forcing it to roll and roll further down. She gasped aloud when the back of her head collided with some sharp edge. Her vision distorted, and her consciousness faded right before the vehicle met the ground.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **[Edited at 2:21 pm, on 5/31/2015]**

 **Again with the super editing. My cousin Totes just bought The Executioner for me, and it made me realize the usage of STEM and how it effects the victims connected to it. At one point, it mentioned memory loss and degradation of mental health, so I'm going to put that into good use!**

 **Also, from personal experiences, a mental hospital can give you much freedom in clothes. That is why Aleta is mostly wearing dresses since those were the things she had brought along. Leslie, of course we know his story, is unfortunately stuck with the Beacon Uniform since he doesn't have much belongings.**

 **I'll leave you to your imagination about Aleta's plain shirtdress and oxfords. Hint: it's a solid color.** **Hopefully, I won't have to go through the torture of re-editing my chapters just after posting them to avoid confusion and a possible riot across the Pacific. Again.**

 **The Evil Within belongs to Shinji Mikami and Tango Gameworks! I only own Aleta Volante, her wardrobe, and her knack of staying calm in the worst scenarios ever.**


	3. An unearthly domain

"One seem'd all dark and red—a tract of sand,  
And someone pacing there alone,  
Who paced forever in a glimmering land,  
Lit with a low large moon."

-The Palace of Art, Lord Alfred Tennyson-

* * *

Chapter Three

"…An unearthly domain…"

* * *

She felt sick as she fled from the tendrils of sleep. The prior events had drained much of her energy, but Aleta still had the resolve to rise. She heard a voice, but it spoke with a hollow sound, as though muffled by a rush of wind or water. A predominating sense of terror hindered her ability to move. Before long, she became aware that someone was holding her; lifting her up and setting her in a sitting position. The touches were obviously gentle, and she felt consoled by this unknown presence.

In five minutes more, she grasped her full consciousness—she was in a chaise longue of sorts, softened by cushions. It was dusk, for there was a bright orange line beyond the genteel countryside. The room itself was luxurious on its own: it was long and narrow, with an ornate molded ceiling, and walls lined with ruby red damask silk.

Her memories suddenly harked back to the collapsing city and the disastrous plunge down the cliff. It was a miracle she had survived such nightmare. But where are all the others? Where is Leslie? And more notably, what is this place and who brought her here? With a groan, Aleta pulled away from the pillows and sat upright this time to gather her bearing. She reached up to feel the locket between her fingers, to collect the cheer that she needed, but she simply clasped at nothing.

Aleta could feel her heart jump in genuine alarm. Her locket! Her only source of security was gone! She looked around, thinking that it must be underneath the pillows and paddings. It wasn't there. The young woman stood up and instantly let out a sob. She had never lost her dear trinket before.

"Are you awake now, young Miss?" Aleta looked to the doorway and saw a white-gloved servant standing there in a typical erudite posture. He wore the standard uniform of a butler with a creamy white waistcoat underneath his black jacket, a silky cravat, and a small silver badge on his left lapel.

"Sir, do you know what has happened to my acquaintances or the city?" Aleta asked him.

"I'm afraid I do not have an inkling of what you speak. You are the only one living in this house." The butler explained in a flat tone before walking away. "Please, follow me. Everything has been arranged in the Great Chamber."

Aleta got up warily, but trailed after the taller man nonetheless. "What is this place, sir?"

Further down the decorative corridor, which was also similar to the room that she had left behind, the butler spoke again and his voice echoed off the ceiling and walls. "This house was built on the desires of the Master. It is where ideas and dreams amass together, kept away from those wanting to blemish his immaculate objectives."

The corridor ended at a striking stairway leading down to what seemed to be the Great Chamber. Orangey-colored marble columns supported the painted ceiling that portrayed rosy-cheeked cherubs transporting a lovely Grecian woman to an awaiting deity at the other end of the magnificent room. In midst of it, there was a three-tiered chandelier burning brightly, and the skillfully cut crystals twinkled in the artificial light.

Up above on the balcony, she could see other paintings depicting the ranks of the upper class that divided them from the common people. The windows had been meticulously built in a way that the sunlight would focus on the graying statue of a veiled angel that watched over the enormous hall.

"This way, young Miss." The butler's tenor drowned the mood. Aleta looked straight ahead and saw him standing beside an ornate chair. "I have been told to give you orders from the Master himself. Come, sit down, and feel at ease. This will be a momentary consultation."

Aleta carefully approached the furniture. But the butler appeared calm and collected whilst waiting, and so she gave in and sat down on the attractive seat. She felt the air leaving the cushions as her weight brought it down. The butler then left her side to acquire something at an adjacent table. Everything became more gigantic and threatening from her current point of view.

From nowhere, she heard the sound of a sharp chirp, and Aleta looked down to see a yellow canary on her right armrest. "Hello there, how did you get in here?" she quietly asked it. She held up her hand and the little bird hopped onto her extended finger, chirping away happily as if it fitted there. However, her minute of bliss had ended when the butler returned with a tall flute of champagne. The bird flew away in fright, and Aleta couldn't help but feel suspicious.

"Now, before we begin, the Master had once told me that Forgetting only occurs when the formerly strengthened synaptic connections in the neurons are damaged. But, these links can be rehabilitated and reinforced with proper conduct." The butler stated while Aleta took a sip of the bubbly drink. "He also believed that a portrayal of a traumatic event could be a key factor in memory retrieval, because they tend to be imprinted even more strongly than normal due to their emotional content."

While the man spoke, the young woman on the chair started to sense a strange numbness beginning at the tip of her fingers—it travelled up her arms, and into her head. The edges of her eyesight were going out of focus, and before she knew it, Aleta dropped the glass onto the marble floor and heard the obvious clatter. The butler, nevertheless, continued his lecture.

"Onto the important part then," he said, slowly pacing his way around the chair to stand in front of her intimidatingly. "The Master has the object which you seek. But, in order to reclaim this locket, are you willing to tread the path you have forsaken?"

"W-What do you mean? What's going on? Please, stop!" Aleta gasped. Her vision was spiraling, and the chandelier swayed on its own.

The butler's voice then echoed strongly in the room. "No one will help you this time, Miss Aleta. The tasks you will encounter are of your own struggle. Oh, and by the way, I should warn you that the things you fear the most now have the power to kill you. Hence, be prudent in your endeavors, and remember everything before it is too late."

Aleta let out a groan upon yielding to the inescapable fatigue. Seconds later, something compelled her to come around. She knew the sensation of being observed—it had been habitual during her time at Beacon Mental Hospital. She grumbled in pain and massaged her left brow. But the throbbing was strangely more prominent in her nape.

Blinking her eyes to mend her sight, Aleta looked around, realizing that she was inside a solarium. However, to her sorrow, the plants were dead and withered. All that lingered were perennial vines and burgeoning moss. Above, through the broken glass roof, the moon was fully round and radiant.

"How did I get here?" she said quietly. Once she got to her feet, she approached the stained glass doors and tried to peer through the dirty panes. There was something out there, waiting for her to come out of the room—a towering, black figure standing in the corner. Then, it moved so suddenly, the mysterious creature knocked down several shelves and pots to the floor.

Aleta stepped away, fearing that it had spotted her. But nothing happened. "What was that thing?"

With thoughtful intent, Aleta pushed the wrought iron door and it opened with a deafening groan. So far, nothing came out to inspect the din she made. She walked in between the rotting trellises, observing each rose that were larger than an infant's fist. It looked like a storm had struck the place, for the wooden doors were unfastened from their hinges, and portions of cut-glass were ominously hanging above her head.

Brown debris had covered most of the footpath, whereas a few miniature trees had made their way out of their pots and booths. A few more hesitant steps were taken, and then she found herself in a courtyard with a domed roof. Several plants were strewn over the path, like undesirable weeds; others lay heaped against each other. Earth had spilled out most of the containers, and numerous ceramic urns were shattered, leaving a tangle of plump brown roots exposed to the air.

And then, Aleta saw something amidst the rubble—the man was stretched on his back in the bed of red spider lilies. She raced down the path to look at his helpless form. He seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and was rather foreign in appearance. A silver police badge gleamed in the faint light, and she assumed that he was a member of the law. Perhaps he could help her find a way out of this conservatory?

Aleta knelt down and tugged at his shoulder holsters to rouse him. "Wake up, sir," she commanded. "Please, wake up!" She tugged more insistently.

As soon as she grabbed at his vest and yanked upward, intending to bring him in a seated position, the man gasped aloud and breathed in the foul air. He coughed from having to draw in such stench. His gloved hands flew to take hold of his attacker's wrists, thinking that he was being strangulated. But he was quick to stop himself and realize that it was only a young girl trying to help him.

He looked ashamed. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you." He removed his hands and placed them on top of his head.

"It's fine." Aleta reassured him. She waited for him to recover properly. "I'm Aleta, by the way. And who might you be?"

"Detective Joseph Oda, from Krimson City Police Department," he said. Aleta could tell that this man was formal and direct with introductions. "Do you have any idea where we are right now?"

"It looks like a conservatory of sorts," she explained. "But it looks more like a birdcage to me."

Joseph nodded. He took out a small notebook and pen, and started to jot down on a blank page. "And how did you arrive here?" he questioned her. Aleta went to tell him that she was at the hospital when the earthquake happened and she had managed to escape with a few survivors.

"Wait, you were with the others from my precinct? Where are they now?" Joseph interrogated.

"I don't know exactly," Aleta replied. "When I woke up, I was all alone."

"That is strange, indeed. Anyway, we can't stay here for long. We should find a way out and look for your doctor. It isn't safe for someone like you to wander around." His explanation somehow struck a chord in Aleta's mind, but she agreed with him nonetheless. Joseph stood to his full height and offered a hand to Aleta. She took it kindly and closely followed the detective from behind.

* * *

 **So I just turned 22 yesterday, and it still feels like nothing has changed.**

 **On to the more milder side, I didn't know how to approach this chapter because I didn't want it to be like Sebastian's where you enter your own mind and wake up in the ambulance half-cooked, or the Kidman Way where you wake up, chase some hallucination of Leslie, recall some memory, and then wake up to a nightmarish world.**

 **In the end, I ended up with an almost Sebastian Method, but Aleta is directly placed into some mindscape Ruvik made for her. Surprise! Joseph is also there because he's a perfectionist that wants to kill himself, and with my OFC being a meticulous artist they might be at odds.**

 **Losing the locket is important as Sebastian losing his favorite trench coat.**

 **Also, if Juli Kidman can have a cat inside her mindscape, then Aleta will have, you guessed it, birds! In an earlier draft, Aleta was supposed to have a Saluki as a save point just to contrast Juli's SaveCat, but then it couldn't work. So Tweetie Bird it is!**

 **Please leave a review, follow it, or just simply favorite it! I really appreciate your opinions, and I wish to know what I can do to make this story more exciting than it is. Thank you!**

 **The Evil Within belongs to Shinji Mikami and Tango Gameworks! I only own Aleta Volante, her wardrobe, and her knack of staying calm in the worst scenarios ever.**


	4. It begins to prowl

"But evil things, in robes of sorrow,  
Assailed the monarch's high estate.  
(Ah, let us mourn!-for never morrow  
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)  
And round about his home the glory  
That blushed and bloomed,  
Is but a dim-remembered story  
Of the old time entombed."

-The Haunted Palace, Edgar Allan Poe-

* * *

Chapter Four

"…It begins to prowl…"

* * *

Aleta felt a twinge in her temple and a slight rise in her pulse. Immediately, she began to worry that a headache might be ready to strike her at any instant. Her companion took notice of her dilemma, and asked if she wanted to rest for a bit. At present, they came upon a room with sunken terraces filled with formal parterres. The hedges had grown out of proportion, each appearing like a tangled mass of untidy hair, and the rectangular fishpond in the middle had already gathered some algae.

"I might need to sit down for a while," Aleta said, feeling the oncoming rhythm in her cranium. Joseph steadily guided her to a nearby wooden bench and settled her there.

"Stay here, I'm going to take a look around since this is a particularly large area," said the detective. For a second, his expression softened, as if he pitied her current impasse. "If the headache continues, please don't hesitate to notify me."

"Of course," Aleta grumbled and leaned on the backrest of the seat. She heard Joseph manhandling several broken pottery and placed them aside, looking for any information that could possibly help them.

She looked to the empty flower beds and pretended to see roses and campanulas in shades of red and royal blue thriving beautifully in the moonlight. One lifeless tree caught her eye, because of the way its branches seemed comparable to antlers. If only she had her pencil and sketchbook right now. However, she could feebly sense there was something standing in the darkness, glaring back at her. At that moment, she swore to herself that one of the antler-like branches began to move.

"Aleta," the said girl practically bounced in fear, but she felt her heart return to its normal pace once she realized it was only Joseph. "I have good news: I found this brochure near a receptionist desk. But oddly enough, it doesn't look timeworn at all." He was right; the item appeared rather new, further contrasting its state from their current surroundings.

Aleta stood up to stand behind Joseph the minute he unfolded the glossy catalog to its full extent. The conservatory was allegedly entitled Halcyon Nest, for it was also designed to be a huge aviary. She also took note that they were presently in the Koi Pond, which would explain the arrangement. Still, she couldn't help but glance back at the dead trees, praying that what she had seen was an illusion created by her illness.

"In which room did you find me again?" Joseph asked her. Aleta returned her attention to the chart and pointed at one room northwest from their current location. She likewise saw the way Joseph's shoulder became tense upon reading the description.

"Red spider lilies," he muttered so low, Aleta had to lean forward to hear him. "Do you know what those flowers mean in Japan?"

"I'm not really sure, but I think they're supposed to mean reincarnation or something like that." Aleta answered rationally. Then she added, "It is also called the Death Flower, because they only grow near cemeteries."

Joseph merely nodded, and started to study the conservatory chart. "Right now, we're situated here, and the main entrance is in the southern area, after the Exotic Florae section. The structure is mostly cross-like in contour, but it was personally intended to hold at least several quarters for the plants, and that could explain the ingenious high-ceilings and metalwork."

"I knew there was something peculiar about this place," Aleta said, finally understanding the feeling she had felt upon waking up earlier. "But if this was also an aviary, then where are all the birds?"

Joseph could only shrug his shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe they were moved elsewhere when this place was abandoned."

"I hope so," Aleta whispered, dreamily reaching for the locket that wasn't even there. "The headache is gone, by the way. All I needed was a bit of rest."

"That's good to hear," the detective replied, but made no further comment as he began the excursion once more.

Again, they were hailed by withered vegetation and decay, though the vines had suddenly grown greater than the foliage themselves. There, the atmosphere suddenly turned cold and threatening. The pair could practically feel an ominous hand wrapping itself around their throats and thinning their supply of air. Joseph and Aleta persisted, nonetheless, and had overlooked the towering figure that silently crept behind the broken glass walls—it pursued them so quietly that neither of the two could even hear its talons stepping on the rock-strewn floor.

Aleta paused in her movements when she caught a very welcoming tune—a bright yellow canary swooped down from out of nowhere and sang lovingly above their heads. Her heart and emotions soared at the sight of the bird. She briefly wondered if Joseph was seeing it too, but he kept marching forward, unaware of the feathered creature hovering near him.

All of a sudden, the bespectacled man raised a gloved hand to her, an indication that she must stop. Aleta did so immediately. The yellow canary found a perch atop a tall iron gate, which seemed out of place for some reason. Beyond the barricade, something humanlike was plodding through the lady ferns and milkweeds.

They quickly hid behind a giant terracotta urn to gather their bearing. Joseph held the mental patient close to him, and he felt her slightly trembling from terror. He slackened his grip on her and gestured her to be very quiet. "Alright, this is what we're going to do: I'll find a way to keep them off the trail, and while they're distracted, you have to move forward and hide until we reach the other gateway, do you understand?"

Aleta unintentionally replayed the last memory where she had been caught by that hooded fiend. She shook her head, and Joseph resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. "We have no choice, Aleta. Please, trust me on this one." The man asserted. In the end, the young woman caved in and gave his hand a strong squeeze to indicate that she was all set. "Now, do not move from your spot. Wait for them to be out of your sight."

Joseph then crept through the wide gap of the gate and delved into the bushes. The creature that resembled a human being did not seem to have any direction. Instead, it patrolled in one place. Barbed wires, gigantic nails, and cavernous wounds littered the graying bodies of these individuals. Their eyes were glowing unnervingly, demonstrating their lifeless condition to this bizarre domain. Aleta heard the smash of ceramics, and so did one of the haunted people.

The man walked to the source of the noise, dragging his heavy feet across the gravel, thus allowing the young woman to slip past him without his notice. She found another place to hide—a blooming Titan Arum that gave off a foul stench. Joseph had rushed past her, presumably to distract the other lookouts up ahead. While she waited for the expected commotion, the canary abruptly tweeted out of its usual tune, which made Aleta glance back at it.

The bird swooped down to lightly graze the top of her head, but she didn't know the meaning behind this agitated motion. Just then, she heard the loud scrape of the gateway as it opened wider. Over the dwarf palm trees, Joseph cursed silently. Something else has joined them in the chamber, and Aleta impulsively pulled her legs close to her chest. The dark figure from the solarium was there. She could see it hunching over the haunted man, who was unaware of the monster behind him.

It growled so profoundly that it almost shook the conservatory. The victim finally turned around to face its attacker, but he was too late—the monster snatched him off the ground and carried him off to the high ceiling, where she could hear the man babbling in alarm. The horrible sound of ripping flesh and the crunching of bones was too much for Aleta. She felt the fear escalating in her chest, and so she fearfully slipped away from her spot to look for Joseph.

She abruptly stopped when the ground quavered from a sudden impact. The girl dove behind the milkweed bushes just in time—the monster was so nearby, Aleta could basically hear the way it rumbled as it searched for more prey. She bunched deeper into the greenery, pleading that she wasn't easily perceivable. A large black claw, larger than her own body, landed right beside her. Aleta did not know what compelled her to look—a soft voice had told her to do so, and she did.

She had expected a very animalistic face, snarling and blood-stained. However, the monster had neither a face nor any expanse of skin: it was nothing but a canine skull with a pair of glowing, silver eyes and sharp elk antlers. Bits of pink flesh clung to its dagger-like teeth. Aleta quickly realized that it was close enough for her to see the disheveled fur on the beast's neck. It abruptly stopped moving. Aleta saw how it gently revolved its head, though she had been trying not to make a sound.

" _Stop hiding….little one_ " it hissed; mouth ajar to release a cloud of steam, " _…let Mother take care of you…sweet child of mine… can't run…forever…_ " Voices of countless qualities and pitches came from this monster, as if someone was browsing through different radio stations in a rapid sequence. The beast was directly above her now, sniffing the air for scent.

At that point, a loud metallic crash rang throughout the room, and the monster scuttled away to investigate the noise. Shaken and terrified, Aleta crawled out of her hiding spot and sobbed at will. Where did Joseph go? Why did her leave her alone? Her steps were uncertain now: she was afraid that something was going to come out of the shrubs and attack her. The other haunted people were gone as well; they might have escaped when that thing entered, but Aleta wasn't entirely convinced.

The other gate had finally materialized before her. It was already unlocked, which meant that Joseph had gone through here by now. She cried again, thinking that the detective found her to be so worthless and a burden. She pushed the gate open and closed it with the designated lock and chain. Aleta released a sigh of pure relief. Yet, the passage did not end there. While trying to collect her understandings, she heard the pitter-pat of bare feet against the cold marble floor, and the familiar murmuring of a certain patient.

"Leslie?" Aleta turned around and saw him at the very end of the long lavender-colored passageway. He was scrabbling for something, crying and yelling at invisible assailants. Then, the double doors opened up behind him, and he was ultimately swallowed by the darkness.

"Leslie, come back! Leslie!" Aleta shouted and ran as fast as she could.

But at that instance, a mysterious red mist arose from the floor. Aleta watched in both terror and fascination as it danced around her and swept her long hair, before assembling in front of her to create the silhouette of a man. To her shock, the hooded man from the hospital stepped out of the vapor like a bad omen from a nightmare. No, that was impossible!

"Still don't remember me, Aleta?" he said, his voice ever so deep and guttural. "I had hoped you would remember that place since it was your first creation, after all."

"What do you mean by 'first creation'? I've never even been there before." Aleta said cagily. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

The hooded man didn't respond to her final question. He looked at her calculatingly, as though she was a puzzle that needed to be solved. "I'm actually impressed that Doctor Jimenez had placed a strong blocker on you. But, either way, it is still insignificant in my eyes." As he spoke, the corridor steadily grew dim, until he and Aleta were the only emphasized figures in the dark. "I will get you to remember everything—about me, about Mother, and the Raven."

A very powerful energy struck Aleta in the chest without warning, and sent her flying backwards. She expected to crash right into the gate, but there was nothing there. She was falling, and there was nothing to stop it. Aleta wailed out to the shadows, begging them to help her end the deadly plunge.

"Please, help me…" she heard herself whispering to the cruel man as she started to lose consciousness all over again. "…Help me…I'm so lost."

There was something grasping at her shoulder. With its persistent clutch and determined jostling, she forced her eyes to open and amend to her rather hazy surroundings. It was dark, possibly late into the nocturnal hours. A rumble of thunder in the clouds suggested a forthcoming rainstorm. Aleta sat upright and prayed for the ache in her head to disappear.

"Pain…pain…pain…"

"Leslie?" Aleta glanced over her shoulder, and surely enough, she found the boy hunched over near an old horse cart. She scuttled over to him and placed a reassuring hand on top of his whitish hair. The boy stopped shuddering then. "I'm here, Leslie. Do you remember me? It's Aleta, your friend."

"Friend…friend…friend…" Leslie turned to look at her with weary eyes. "Aleta…Aleta…Aleta…" he babbled quietly before huddling close to the comforting presence.

"Don't worry, I'm here now," Aleta said soothingly. She looked around, understanding that they were currently on the outskirts of a nameless town. A bright light flashed in her eyes for a second, but she managed to grasp the outline of a lighthouse across a foggy lake.

"No, don't go there," Leslie mumbled into her shoulder. "No…no…no…"

"Alright, Leslie, we won't go there." Aleta told him. "But we still have to search for a safer place. It's dangerous out here." She helped the boy to stand and guided him down the weathered dirt road.

The pair arrived at the town, but Aleta was quick to realize that there was no sign of inhabitants. The houses and small shops seemed abandoned, much like the conservatory. There was a growl coming from their left, and thus she steered Leslie to sit behind a coffer. The boy panicked at the abrupt movements; he kept quiet as soon as Aleta tapped the tip of his nose. It was one of the few gestures that none of the nurses knew about, and it was useful whenever Leslie broke down.

"We're playing Hide and Seek right now, so…" Aleta whispered to him, and Leslie happily nodded.

They waited for the throng to walk past them. A few of them were carrying torches and pitch forks. Once the Haunted were nowhere near them, Leslie took Aleta's awaiting hand, and allowed the girl to guide him through the village. They hid behind a small cabin, with Aleta peeking around the corner for any watchman. She noticed that there was a wooden gate found along a grassy hillside, and that there were only a small number of sentries there.

"Okay Leslie, we just need to sneak past those things, and then we'll look for Doctor Jimenez." Aleta said. Regrettably, she recalled what had happened when Joseph attended her, and she quickly felt disappointed.

"Ah…can't get away!" Leslie softly shrieked. Aleta chose this opportunity to dash towards the gate, but a Haunted villager jumped out from the shadows and latched onto the girl's leg. She screamed.

During the fall, she dragged the frightened boy to the ground along with her. Aleta quickly released her grip on Leslie so that he could scamper away to safety. "Run Leslie! Just go!" she yelled at him. The albino cried out; his movements became frantic—he didn't know what else to do, and so he ran. Aleta thanked whatever divine being that encouraged him to run. But right now, she had an even bigger problem to deal with.

"Get off of me!" she screamed at the Haunted, who still had an agonizing clutch on her left ankle. She kicked at his face with her unattended foot, and then broke his nose with the heel of her shoe. But that wasn't enough to discourage her assailant.

A loud gunshot rang out, and the undead man's head suddenly burst open, spraying blood and brain matter all over the ground. Aleta could only gaze at the gory image in front of her. Seconds later, someone else arrived and knelt down beside her. She finally took a deep breath, startling herself, and glanced up to see an older man with an unshaven face. His character was mainly mannish and gruff. She noted the shoulder holsters and the manner of dress he had on his person. Aleta appraised him with an artist's eye—this man cut a striking figure, though he had a tiny scar on the left side of his mouth that gave him a worn out appearance.

"Are you alright, kid? Are there any injuries on you?" he asked her. Aleta shook her head at him.

"Wait a minute," he interjected. "You were one of the patients in the ambulance, right? Your friend, Leslie, I saw him earlier, but he ran away." The man explained, before delicately adding, "What's your name, by the way?"

"Aleta," she answered timidly. Her voice was a little shaky from the prior event.

"Alright then, Aleta, I'm Sebastian Castellanos. I'm a police officer from the KCPD."

Aleta regarded him for a moment, before saying, "You're not going to leave me alone?" she asked "because the other one left me to die."

The statement prompted Sebastian to rub the back of his neck—a gesture likely used during awkward situations. He then gave Aleta a sympathetic gaze. "No, I won't leave you on your own. Come on, let's go find the others."

Aleta nodded. She got up on her feet, brushed off the dirt from her shirtdress, and willingly followed Sebastian deeper into the village.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Longest chapter yet?**

 **When I was trying to visualize Mother, I was thinking of scary stories that you would tell around the campfire. Then, Breynz the Zombie Werewolf thankfully appeared while I was browsing Pinterest, combine that with the terrifying Wendigo, and you have a monster worthy for The Evil Within!**

 **In this chapter, I wanted Joseph and Aleta to have some sort of argument regarding the flowers, the plants, and the trees, with Joseph pointing out that a mental patient shouldn't be that knowledgeable about botany. Then I scrapped it, because it really went nowhere from that point on.**

 **And, of course, since this is the mindscape of Ruvik, he can unite the scenery if he wanted to. Also, Tweety Bird coming to warn Aleta about Mother!**

 **Finally, we eventually meet up with Sebastian Castellanos! (a.k.a. Big Bad Handsome Man by Imelda May)**

 **The Evil Within belongs to Shinji Mikami and Tango Gameworks! I only own Aleta Volante, her wardrobe, and her knack of staying calm in the worst scenarios ever.**


	5. Keepsakes bestowed by Love

"Swore that two lives should be like one  
As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,  
As long as the sunflower sought the sun,-  
It shall be, I said, for eternity  
'Twixt you and me!  
Dear friend, those times are over and done;  
Love's web is spun."

-Her Voice, Oscar Wilde-

* * *

Chapter Five

"…Keepsakes bestowed by Love…"

* * *

Sebastian and Aleta surveyed their gloomy surrounding. Lightning continued to strike and flash, whereas the rumbling thunder beleaguered them in an uneasy way. The pair had arrived at a house, and the detective suddenly heard someone talking inside the dwelling. He silently signaled Aleta to keep quiet before pulling out his gun. Sebastian felt Aleta moving closer to him and grasp his sleeve for assurance.

They climbed the wooden steps to the second level of the abode. Sebastian could hear the source coming from behind one door. And so he steadily pushed the obstruction and swiftly aimed his gun. "Who's there?" the detective demanded.

"No, don't shoot! I'm not one of them. I'm a doctor, Marcelo Jimenez."

"Doctor Jimenez?" Aleta peeked out from her hiding place. "It is you!" She moved away from Sebastian, and ran over to the aforementioned man.

The doctor seemed surprised, perhaps even startled. "Miss Volante, I've been looking everywhere for you and Leslie. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Aleta shook her head. "A little shaken, but I'm fine, nonetheless," she said.

Doctor Jimenez then nodded to Sebastian. "Thank you; at least I have one of my patients with me."

"Have you seen anyone else?" Sebastian asked, putting away his firearm from view.

"I might have seen Leslie running up ahead, but…" Jimenez drawled.

"But…?" Aleta looked at one gentleman to another. The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder and steered her towards the balcony. She glanced back at Sebastian, and noticed the suspicion growing in his dark eyes.

"Come this way. Quietly, mind you."

Aleta gazed through the mist, seeing a dozen of Haunted villagers wandering in the large enclosure. Doctor Jimenez went on to explain that they had chased him into this settlement, as did Sebastian. He likewise pointed out where Leslie had gone through. Aleta briefly wondered how the boy managed to slip by without aid. She gripped the handrail tightly when the wooden gate suddenly came down by itself. She overheard the two men discuss a way to open that obstruction while the other one serves as a diversion. Another thought of Joseph crossed her mind, and she thought of nothing but betrayal and melancholy.

"Aleta," Sebastian's gruff voice called her out. She looked at him with wide eyes, and barely noticed Doctor Jimenez slip away from them. "Will you be alright on your own?"

"I'm not sure…" she glanced down into the ground below. She then questioned if she could die from this height just to make things easier. "I'm so scared."

"Just find a safe place to hide for now. I'll come and find you, don't worry." Aleta could only nod. Sebastian had been thoughtful enough to escort her to one of the abandoned houses.

Unexpectedly, he took out a sharp dagger. Aleta rapidly tensed at the faint gleam along the edge. But the detective simply hacked away at the entry, leaving a symbol to point out where she is hiding. After which, he closed the door, and she was alone again. She studied the first room, which was a den belonging to a hunter, for there were deer heads and antlers attached upon one gray wall. Though they were long dead, Aleta could still sense the intensity of their gazes, and the last thing they must have felt was undeniable fear.

Then, from the strangely abnormal silence, she caught the sound of a musical chirp up the stairs. Aleta ascended to the next floor and followed the tune to an open room. Perched on a grubby daybed was the yellow canary. It tilted its head this way and that, twittering with each jovial bounce. She then spotted a birdcage atop a writing desk, which was decorated in bright yellow sunflowers.

Inside the cage was a wrinkled clipping from a newspaper. Aleta opened the hatch and took the tabloid out to read what was written upon it—

 **FAMED NEUROSURGEON DIES IN TRAGIC PLANE CRASH**

 **June 14, 2007**

 **At exactly 6:13 in the morning, police have found the crash site of the private jet belonging to renowned neurosurgeon, Estéban Volante. The doctor had been returning from an important conference in Florence, Italy regarding the possible cure to mental disorders through direct and meticulous electro-shocks in the brain. Viewed as a loving father, Estéban decided to cancel his final seminar in order to return home to his wife, who had recently given birth to his third child. He is also father to a daughter, age 16, and a son, age 10.**

 **Police investigated the remains of the plane, saying that the engine had no defect whatsoever. The pilot, however, was allegedly dead minutes before the crash occurred. Estéban was still settled in his seat, apparently held in place by his seatbelt. Family and friends have begun to offer their condolences and support to the bereaved family. Autopsy reports will be released as soon as further analysis is concluded.**

Aleta stared vacantly at the article in her hands. A feeling of dread came over her, as if something had burst inside her mind. She was unaware that the room had begun to shake, and yet the canary was still rooted to its perch. A long high-pitch sound faintly echoed in her ears, and she was driven to slowly glance over her shoulder—the hooded man stood there, wearing the unchanged cold glare.

"Estéban Volante," Aleta recited the name on the paper. "Was he…my father?"

The hooded man tilted his head up marginally. "Jimenez has done more damage than I expected," he said. "Tell me, what were the things he told you? What sort of pitiful story did he concoct in order for you to forget your real identity?"

Aleta backed away, although she glanced down at her feet and tried to come up with an answer. "He said I've always been like this. Ever since I was a child, I was sick with pediatric schizophrenia. My parents gave me away, because they didn't know what to do with me."

"And he was wrong. He lied to you, Aleta. He kept the truth hidden from you."

"Why?" Aleta said, voice rising a little. "Why would he do that? Doctor Jimenez promised that he would find a cure for me!"

"By expending your own father's ways and means," the hooded man interrupted. "And of my own, as well. Jimenez knew what would happen if you continued to hang onto those valuable emotions. So he simply followed a theory, and now he thinks it's a success."

Aleta blinked in bafflement. "What valuable memories? What are you talking about?! Just tell me who you are already!" she shouted. The disfigured man before her could only smirk at her infuriated expression.

"You'll figure it out soon," he told her. He steadily raised his hand to her, and her eyes widened in disbelief when she saw what was being presented—her locket. "But will you be able to handle everything after all of this?"

The windows suddenly burst open, sending a cold rush of wind into the room. The hooded man vanished like dust blown in the breeze, and the bird flew out of the drawing room. Aleta stood there, gasping for a breath and clenching the front of her dress. A sudden realization then arose from her—she couldn't conjure up any memories before Beacon Mental Hospital. Even if she was suffering from a mental illness, surely she could have elicited something that incited her of a life she once had. But there was none, and this thought terrified her incredibly.

"Aleta, can you hear me? Hey!" The young woman glanced up to see Sebastian hovering over her—she was crammed inside a cabinet of some sort that accommodated her small frame. "You definitely found a safe place to hide, kid." Sebastian commented.

Aleta could only purse her lips as she tried to hinder her tears. "You actually came back to find me." The disgruntled detective simply huffed in response, and went on to help the mental patient out of the dusty furniture.

"Come on, the gate is open. We should be able to go further into the village," Sebastian explained.

"What I don't understand is the need for such things when they could have lived as a community." Aleta said softly, walking behind the taller man and grasping at his shirt sleeve again.

There were very little monsters walking around now. She had to wonder how on earth Sebastian was able to do all of that with just a gun and his wits. Before they could get to the other side, however, she caught sight of Doctor Jimenez emerging from his own hiding spot in one farmhouse.

"Wait!" the doctor shouted. "Over here!" He jogged up to the pair whilst catching his breath. "Wait, uh, officer. You must take me with you!"

"Detective Castellanos," Sebastian sharply corrected him, though the man he had just reprimanded didn't seem to care.

"Leslie is just up ahead, it is imperative that we find him." Jimenez told him. As the trio was able to cross over, the gate suddenly came crashing down, permanently thwarting their chance of a way back. Aleta was frightened enough to release her hold on Sebastian, and grab a button of her shirtdress.

"Ah, the hospice; yes…Leslie was being treated here years ago. He'd come here thinking it was familiar and safe." At that statement, Aleta felt pity for the boy who had spent most of his life in some medical setting.

"You know where we are?" Sebastian interrogated.

"Just ahead is the hospice my brother runs. He'll take us in."

"That didn't answer my question." The detective grumbled. He looked back at Aleta to see if she was doing fine every now and then.

"I honestly don't know. For all I know I'm losing my mind, and you're just a delusion," said Jimenez.

Aleta raised her head worryingly at her doctor's remark, but Sebastian was quick to shoot her a glare that convincingly told her not to trust it. She nodded once, but was bewildered by the sudden change in outlook from the person she once depended on. They were soon approaching a tall, narrow house sealed off in a stone fence. A harsh current of air picked up debris from the gutter and threw it against the house. Her grip on Sebastian's sleeve tightened, and she had to stop in her tracks when she saw a familiar shadow moving across the window.

"No, please don't go there," she whispered to the detective in front of her.

"What do you mean, kid?" Sebastian replied roughly, but there was a hint of concern in his voice.

Doctor Jimenez paused as well. "Please excuse my patient; Miss Volante has some odd…afflictions of sorts that change from time to time. They will pass, eventually."

But Aleta was relentless. "Don't go in there, please. Don't go." Despite her struggle, Sebastian continued forward, trailing after Doctor Jimenez.

Upon entering the house, Sebastian asked her to wait for them. Aleta whimpered quietly when the older man carefully pried off her hand from his sleeve. She watched them head downstairs to meet with the doctor's brother. Yet, she could already pick up the scent of blood lingering everywhere. The house groaned and creaked against the howling gust outside. The heavy presence of that man was horribly close, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

For a second time, the musical chirp of the yellow canary drowned all of the frightening sounds. Aleta dutifully followed the song—this time, it was leading her outside. She saw the bright yellow creature gliding away from her, putting her in a trance-like state. In the distance, she heard a few rounds of gunshots and nothing more. The yellow canary continued to lead her straight into a path so narrow and congested; you would have trouble finding it in the dark.

The low-rising trees pricked and clawed at her, but she was determined to follow her cheerful guide. Passing the bushes, the silhouette of another house, different than those from the previous village, rose to view. Everything was obscure. The bird was quick to return to her, and it perched itself on top of her right shoulder. In seeking the door, Aleta inspected the residence warily. Then, from the panes of a very small latticed window, she could see a yellow glowing light coming from within.

When she came near and pushed aside a spray of foliage shooting over it, she could see someone reading by candlelight. It was a lady in a white, long-sleeved dress. Her long black hair had been brushed back, and held together by a red ribbon. Her dainty hands sensibly turned each page of the nameless book she had. An empty birdcage sat in the corner of the little room. Aleta felt her chest beginning to warm at the picturesque sight of domestic life and peaceful solitude.

Aleta had been so intent on watching the enigmatic lady, she had nearly forgotten about the others back in the village. But then, right when she was about to move, she heard something scuttle through the shrubs. Over yonder, behind the thickets, there was a large shadow prowling through, and the formidable growling echoed throughout the property. It was Mother. Aleta hurriedly ran for the door and grabbed at the handle. To her surprise, it opened easily. She entered, closing the door quietly so as not to alert the monster.

Nevertheless, the click of the lock sliding into place had caught Mother's attention, and the monster was swift to creep around the dwelling, sneaking a quick look through the windows with a bright silver eye. The young woman quickly hid under a table.

" _Hiding, are we?_ " the droning monster spoke. " _...Mother hates…this game…come out now sweetheart…_ " Mother gave an ear-piercing scream, which boomed into the night skies. And then there was silence. Aleta measured her breathing until she decided it was safe to come out of hiding.

She thought it was strange that the woman in the small room didn't come out to investigate the turmoil that had just occurred outside. The canary, likewise, was peculiarly calm and acquiescent—it snuggled against the side of her neck, happily sleeping away. Aleta then proceeded to the parlor, where the woman supposedly was. But she wasn't there anymore—only her book and the burning candle remained.

Curious as she was, she walked around the table to peer at the subject of the volume, and discovered that it was Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. "My favorite story," she said to herself. Aleta turned the pages as if she was dealing with an artifact. She navigated to the very front of the lovely manuscript, and felt her blood run cold at the written message on the blank page—

 _To Aleta, a girl who believes that she is being punished for her deeds._

 _And yet, she should be commended for her bravery and pure steadfastness. You are not at fault, my winged one. And while you cast yourself into the dark, your heart remains pure and enlightened. I put my entire faith in this silly narrative, and may it give you the insight and closure you seek._

 _R. V._

At that moment, a large claw crashed through the window behind her, and Aleta let out a scream. The canary on her shoulder flew away, but it chirped loudly for her to follow it. The young woman held the book against her chest, and covered her face when more shards of sharp glass flew at her. She saw the bird hovering in front a red door, and she opened it to reveal a stairway that led to a dark basement. She hurriedly descended, two steps at a time, and saw a brief profile of Mother before the door closed in on her.

The underground room had a small number of things covered in canvas sheets. All except for one—a baby carriage with a broken ceramic doll tucked inside it. The canary took off once more and fluttered at the other end of the cellar. Aleta pushed aside the old belongings with one hand to reach her feathered friend.

It chirped thrice, and she heard a tune being played somewhere past the wall. She shoved a particularly massive canvas sheet to the side, uncovering an oil painting that resembled The Cornfield of John Constable. Aleta felt drawn to it, as if her body was willing to jump into the artwork itself.

Then, in a matter of minutes, she reached out to touch the precious masterpiece, and was engulfed in an extraordinary white light.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I finally took the time to update this fanfic. Phew!** **I would also like to give my special thanks to NightlyRowenTree, nighten-gale1720, and GothicRose18 for their reviews! I'm happy that a lot of people are entertained by this, even though my method of writing makes no sense. I don't regret it tho.**

 **English Literature struck me hard since I bought an entire set of Jane Austen books. I'm struggling with Mansfield Park, even today.**

 **Story related, I nearly forgot that Aleta had her own Safe Room! But I couldn't figure out how she could transfer to that place, so I chose a way of crossing via paintings. Plus The Cornfield is nice to look at while you're having tea and Scottish pancakes! We should appreciate Traditional Art a little bit more these days.**

 **On a more gloomier note, we finally have an inkling about Aleta's past: Her father was a famous doctor that was ready to change the world with his discoveries, but something bad happens to him in order to fuel the Angsty Backstory.**

 **Also, a little head's up: both Aleta's re-telling of her past will somehow collide with Ruben's own version. Because it's Ruben, and he can do whatever he wants on a Friday Night. But one thing's for certain, the revelation isn't going to be all sunflowers and rainbows and guts.**

 **(ALERT! After posting this chapter, I'm going to put up a poll at my profile. Please check it out if you want more fanfics out of me! Thanks!)**

 **The Evil Within belongs to Shinji Mikami and Tango Gameworks! I only own Aleta Volante, her wardrobe, and her knack of staying calm in the worst scenarios ever.**


	6. Author's Important Note!

**Author's Important Note!**

 **I apologize for the really long delay everyone, but the house was being renovated and I was hunting for a job.**

 **And it didn't take long for the construction workers to get my room, so I had to turn off the computer and put it aside.**

 **However, my muse for the story started to dwindle to the point that Crippled Birds felt lost to me.**

 **Also, I felt very bad because I was using scenes from a book that's always right beside me, and I really want to start clean.**

 **I took the time to re-take a few lessons from my Literature Dean, who was kind enough to impart his wonderful words of wisdom**

 **[Sarah, are you still spacing out on me?]**

 **Eventually I've decided to keep this story posted, so you can compare it to the latest one I'm currently working on.**

 **I was able to find my first TEW draft while cleaning out my stuff, and I've always wondered why nobody liked _A Porcelain Mind_.**

 **There, the main character is named Philomena whose mental illness happens to be hereditary from her mother.**

 **In this story, Philomena's mother was one of the unlucky patients of Beacon Mental Hospital who were sent to the Victoriano Manor.**

 **Then, after what was deemed to be a very dangerous test subject, Jimenez accidentally drops some info about the patient's daughter to Ruben.**

 **You know what happens next.**

 **[Insert crazy psychopathic romance here]**

 **In short, Ruben happens to like Philomena, and vice versa. Until Mobius decides to butt in and ruin the chances of a manic relationship.**

 **Anyway, I hope you'd understand what I'm going through right now, and I just got my computer back online this evening.**

 **I am a person who wants to please her audience, and I'll do what I can to make anyone satisfied.**

 **And if you're wondering, the book that I was referring to was The Serpent in the Garden by Janet Gleeson.**

 **It's an awesome mystery-thriller-historical novel, and I recommend it to anyone who likes the 18th Century.**

 **Until then, stay wylde!**


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